


Copycat

by borlaaq



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Knotting, Masochism, Other, Partial Mind Control, Scars, Sharing a Body, Trans Male Character, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 16:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21274439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borlaaq/pseuds/borlaaq
Summary: "Are you any better than my cultists, or just my most devoted?"





	Copycat

_ Basically I killed the cat, my curiosity caught me. _

_ Destroying what I love until I’m left with nothing. _

_ To have and eat a cake without a candle burning. _

_ I’m dancing with a puppet of you but I’m learning. _

"No one will ever hurt you again. No one but  _ me _ ." Veils murmurs, teeth against flesh but not yet breaking. The words are whispered softly, like one might say 'I love you'. They feel the same too, Emil thinks. He wouldn't know. He's never heard those words spoken before. 

And he knows, as he leans his head back, that the words aren't even for him. But that's alright.

Veils is licking the blood off his stomach, just above the scar from where it killed him. The scar weeps and Veils is drunk off the taste. It moves from one scar to another, tracing each with teeth and tongue. And Emil has never felt so alive as when he's feeling someone else's emotions. 

All the scars are self-inflicted. His heart beats fast. Veils knows where each of them are without looking. Even the ones that don't weep, the ones under his pectorals, sloppily stitched; the ones across his thighs. Veils doesn't skip over those either.

Emil has always used pain to feel alive. 

"He accepted his body too, after a while," Veils mumbles, drawing a claw across Emil's chest, opening an old scar. He shudders, realizing belatedly that Veils is talking to  _ him _ and not the voice inside the back of his head, the part of him in the well.

"He feels at one with me. Is that why? My body is like his?" It makes his head hurt to think of them as separate. It makes his heart hurt to know Veils thinks of them as separate. He doesn't know who that feeling belongs to. 

"We call them Runts," Veils says, licking up the fresher blood, lips moving up to Emil's neck where it drags teeth across. The scars here are inside his throat, burned raw from alcohol. Emil's died seven times by now but he's also so close to being alive again.

He twists slightly, reaching between them to grasp Veils' cock, a bit too pleased to find it already hard. The Master growls against his neck, thrusting into his hand. It takes both of his hands to wrap fully around its cock, but he gives Veils a firm squeeze, using its own natural slick as lubricant. It pulses in his grip and Veils rewards the action with teeth pressing into Emil's shoulder. 

Something in Emil shifts.  _ Candles _ shifts. Emotions bubbling up. Candles is jealous that Veils is talking to Emil and not it. So Emil steps back and lets Candles surge forward, eagerly in both its rage and desire to be  _ real _ . 

"Say my name," he begs, "Please." And it's not even him asking. It's not his name he wants. Nothing is ever for himself anymore. 

He moves his hands faster. Veils replies in Correspondence and it burns Emil's skin. A brand. It doesn't come out as the sigil Emil has learned to associate with Eaten, with what is very-rarely-remembered, but rather it burns as a brand of seven letters. A name. 

"Candles, Candles," it breathes, shuddering. " _ Candles _ ." 

He moans softly at that, scrambling to climb into Veils' lap. "Keep talking like that..." He whines, immediately impaling himself onto Veils' cock.

None of his words are his right now. Emil is fine to let Candles have control.

Veils gasps at the speed and motivation, tossing its head back. "If I do, you'll come first again," it hisses. It's meant as an insult, but how true it is, for Emil and Candles, makes it fall rather flat. 

"And?" He challenges, grinding downward with a moan. "If I get to cum more than once, who's the real winner?" 

"Get cocky on me," it warns, rolling its hips sharply to meet Emil's movements, "And I'll make you use your tongue. No orgasm allowed."

His cunt tightens at that. "I'm always cocky when it comes to you, though. Who else can bring Vake-the-betrayer so low?"

"You brought me low?" It snarls. "I explored your dreams. I toyed with your mind. I molded you into what you are, Candles."

"And you did it all for  _ me _ ," he purrs in a way that is very much not human as he rides Veils in earnest. "Are you any better than my cultists, or just my most devoted?"

"I've not gored myself and given up my life for you. Not yet," it laughs, plunging claws into his hips. "You're an object to me," it growls, a low, dangerous purr. It moves Emil's body roughly, not giving him any time to set the pace or adjust. 

Veils is still aware, somewhere, that Emil is still only human, even if it's Candles' words coming from him. It seems intent on reminding both of them that. 

Emil gasps and moans at the intensity. "An object that you  _ adore _ . That you keep coming back to, for more and more. You could have left me dead but you couldn't stand the idea of that," he pants, clawing at its shoulders to get some leverage to meet each trust with his own. 

"Don't remind me of all that," Veils groans. "Guilt makes a bad pair with the throes of pleasure."

He chuckles, kissing its jaw, "But most don't feel guilty over a broken toy," he challenges, pace not flattering. "You  _ love _ me," he purrs and the words burn his throat. Humans are not meant to speak in Correspondence, but Candles has forced its vessels to do far more painful things.

(Like fucking Veils. Emil will feel it in the morning. But Candles knows better than anyone Emil won't regret it. Emil is the one who keeps coming back for more, after all.)

Veils is shaking, holding back from a humiliatingly timed orgasm. "And if I do? If I want to keep you for eternity?"

"You can't get rid of me," he pants, slowing his movements to just grind himself on the cock inside of him. He's close too, cunt clenching in waves. 

"I learned," Veils huffs, thrusting its hips up, suddenly becoming aware Emil has stopped moving. "Fuck... Go  _ faster _ , you useless  _ runt _ ," it snarls, jerking Emil up and down again, until it lets out a low groan of pleasure. 

It had been so intent on using Emil for its own pleasure that the strength of the thrust force its knot in. Emil hisses, body tensing at the sudden intrusion, much bigger than he should ever healthily take. A chuckle from the back of his mind forces him to relax. Then cum fills Emil, making him cry out and cum with it. He clings to Veils, arching his back as his body shakes.

Veils holds Emil's hips flush against it, the pressure inside his small frame almost too much for either of them. Belatedly, Veils realizes this is what Emil had been trying to avoid by slowing down.

The next words are Emil's. Candles having withdrawn back into the depths of his mind, back to the well. 

"Seems we tied," he says after he catches his breath. "So much for me coming first."

Veils growls weakly, attempting to lift Emil off it, toss him to the side like every other time they ended up like this. Only to abruptly remember they are tied in more ways than one. 

"Shit," it hisses. Veils' post orgasm bliss is immediately shattered realizing that it's a human on its cock and not Candles. 

"Half an hour," Emil singsongs, obviously not bothered in the least. "Can't just ditch me this time."

Veils doesn't want to know how he knows how long a Curator's knot lasts. "You are  _ horrible _ ." 

"We could talk about our feelings."

"I would rather drown."

"Candles would like that." 

**Author's Note:**

> a... relatively personal piece i wrote while working out some of my own feelings on dysphoria and being numb and not feeling like im in my own body


End file.
